You’ve been gone over a year now. In some ways it feels like you were here just yesterday. Other days it feels like eternity has spread out in between us. I’m starting to forget what your voice sounded like. My heart breaks even typing those words because I need your voice in my life. This week I needed your warm Texas lilt to whisper in my ear.

I needed your voice when cancer took my friend’s mother. I needed your words when cancer crept back into the brain of another friend’s mother. In their sadness, my grief for you welled up in my heart and broke it all over again. My words of comfort were such a meager offering in the face of staggering loss, in the face of fear come to life. And yet, I feel like you would have said just the right thing. Once again I find myself wishing I was more like you.

Last night I prayed that you would come talk to me in my dreams. I long for you to sit down next to me, pat my leg and tell me everything will be okay. I dream every night. Most mornings I wake up recalling a fistful of dreams. But not last night. Last night was void of dreams. You were silent and I woke up alone in bed, missing you more than ever.

It’s almost Easter and my memories of last Easter are snapshots flickering in the forefront of my mind. I remember singing in your church Easter morning, painfully aware that you weren’t there next to me. I cried through worship, both for the beauty of Easter and for the agony of loss. I remember riding my bike up through your mountains, my heart bobbing in my throat.

Cancer is such a cunning thief. A year later, I still feel hollowed out. And maybe that’s why I don’t have the right words to say to my beloved friends. Maybe there aren’t words to fill the cavern of loss.

Gramma, words never seemed to fail you. You could strike up a conversation with anyone and build a friendship in mere minutes. As for me, my words choke up behind my tongue and come out all wrong.

But this I know for sure, when my words fail my actions speak for me.

So when it comes to cancer, I’m letting my legs do the talking. With every spin of the cranks, I say no to cancer. When I stand and pedal up hills, I’m standing with my friends. And maybe one of these days when I’m riding through the plains and the wind is whipping through the wildflowers, just maybe it’s your warm Texas lilt I’ll hear on the breeze.

You didn’t used to snore. You used to sleep in silent stillness, so much so that I’d hold my hand in front of your mouth to make sure you were breathing. You used to joke that you slept like you were dead.

And then came the time when you stopped sleeping, the year when you wrestled demons and wished you were dead. You wrestled in the harsh light of day and every dark, lonely night. Life was hard and there was no rest for you, no sleep to ease your mind. My sleep was punctuated with nightmares, nightmares that continued into my waking hours.

Those were dark days when we clawed our way out of the pit, only to fall back in and try again the next day. And the next day. And the next. We fought hard for our life together, fought hard to hang onto love. And light. And hope. My prayers were fervent, urgent pleas for life over death. We clung to God. We clung to each other. We clung for dear life.

After months of this exhausting struggle, my prayers were answered and you began to sleep again. I remember the first night you finally slept. You began to snore. At first the snoring scared me, startling me from sleep, reminding me of all that had changed. Even at night I couldn’t escape that fact that for better or worse, we were different.

Most days it feels like that was a long time ago and for that I’m grateful. Our life is happy. We are whole. Changed, yes, but when we put together the pieces of our fractured life, you were still you and I was still me.

Now at night when I wake to your snoring, I press into you, safe in the knowledge that you are here in this life with me. I remember the days when you couldn’t sleep. I listen to your snoring and say a prayer of thanks that you have found rest, that we have found respite together.

I’ve come to love the sound of your snores. In the quiet of night, your snoring is the sound I listen for. In fact, it’s my favorite sound, the one I want to hear all the days of my life.

I heard you snoring last night and I felt safe. I rolled over and slipped into a dream. And when I woke, I woke to our life together.

Children have such a way with words, pairing combinations that just pulse off the page. Their little lips seem to spill poetry. I’m lucky enough to be a fly on the wall when they mish mash those beautiful combinations.

Poet Naomi Shihab Nye collected some of the things her son said and reads his words here in her poem “One Boy Told Me”.

You are, no doubt, scrambling for a piece of paper this very second to write down the wonders that have slipped through the lips of your son, daughter, niece, nephew, granddaughter, grandson, the kid next door, or even that funny kid in front of you in line at the post office. Do it, grab a pencil and write it down. Quick, before your grown-up brain forgets and instead fills up with mundane things like the grocery list. And then share your lines or a link to them in the comments section please. It’s National Poetry Month and we all deserve a little more poetry in our lives.

April is National Poetry Month and although the first day of Spring was nearly a month ago, it feels like Spring is just now arriving. So here’s a little poem to celebrate the fact that maybe, just maybe winter is finally giving way.

Thinking Spring

The sign outside my front door reads ‘Think Spring’.

In the breath of summer, that leaves me cracked and dry,

And in the fall, when bouquets of colors fall at my feet,

But especially when the cold song of winter whistles through the crack of my front door,

I’m thinking about all that is secreted away, tucked in and waiting to bloom,

All that is just waiting for wind’s warm whisper that Spring has arrived.

my little one who brought his hamster, Mr. Beans, to school on his special sharing day. The kids squealed and cheered when the boy took Mr. Beans out of his box. Mr. Beans then spent the next hour scared stiff. Poor Mr. Beans will never be the same!

another little one who brought his pet, Lilly the Tortoise, to share. Lilly has impeccable timing and pooped just as the boy was lifting her out of her box. The class started shrieking in horror as the poop plopped into the box. Poor first graders will never be the same. I on the other hand, had to stifle my giggles. Potty humor slays me.

the rare bike ride where my legs feel like they could go forever

talking to my brothers on the phone and dreaming about a big bike adventure together. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, except when I post pictures on my blog. Brothers, consider yourselves warned.

these magical words from the pharmacist “I’ve got that on hand. Your prescription will be ready in a few minutes.” My sinuses thank you, kind sir.

the little boy in my class who wore his “I’m a Big Brother” sticker all weekend and just had to wear it to school Monday

the sound of my neighborhood in spring. Children play outside, wind chimes ting-a-ting-ting on gust of barbecue scented wind. Spring is here and not a moment too soon.

the fact that it’s week 20 and I still have so much to be grateful for. I hope the same is true for you.

We’re a rag-tag group of people vigilantly pursuing self-sustaining educational & employment opportunities with and for students and their families living in rural communities in developing countries. We believe in asking hard questions like, “What do you need and how can we help?” We believe that communities know their needs better than we do and that it’s our job to listen. We’re big on being kind for the sake of kindness and we believe that even the smallest acts of kindness can make a big difference. We believe in keeping vigil over one another and watching for opportunities to help, no matter how far off the beaten path those opportunities take us. We’re vigilant in our belief that God has given each person unique gifts and that one of the highest forms of worship is using those gifts to serve others. We believe God has a purpose for each life and Vigilante Kindness is our purpose. Join us as we live out wild adventures in service of God and others. Join us in committing acts of Vigilante Kindness.

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